Otterlock
by cautiousAlbatross
Summary: What the title says. Otter-sherlock and hedgehog-John. With an original character. Hopefully amusing.


A long time ago, and also very recently, and in fact not very long ago at all, there lived a girl called Michelle. For complex and varied reasons, she decided to go walking in a forest one day. As she was walking through this forest, she happened upon an otter. Actually, she more than happened upon it. She actually tripped over it. This was half because it appeared suddenly on the path beneath her feet and half because the otter was wearing a scarf.

"You're wearing a scarf," she said, showcasing humanity's brilliant talent for stating the obvious, "You're an otter. Wearing a scarf."

"Yes, it is a nice scarf, isn't it?" said the otter, looking at her slyly out of the corner of its eye.

"A scarf," she repeated, "A blue scarf. Why is it blue?"

"Why does the colour matter? Why does the scarf matter?" the otter continued, more to itself than to Michelle, "Why is it always the scarf?"

"It's a good scarf," she said quickly, "It suits you."

"It does, doesn't it?" said the otter, preening slightly.

"Yes," said Michelle, wondering how to bring up the fact that the otter was talking without seeming entirely idiotic.

"Sherlock, are you talking to humans again?" said a hedgehog in a bedraggled jumper, trundling onto the path, "I told you it was a bad idea."

"She started it," said the otter in a sulky voice, "She commented on my scarf."

"It's a nice scarf," said Michelle quickly, "Very fetching."

"See?" said the otter, "I told you it was her."

"I'm so sorry," said the hedgehog, "He's always like this. I'm John, by the way."

"Nice to meet you," replied Michelle, "I would say nice jumper, but it's a bit… frayed."

"I know," sighed the hedgehog, "It's these damn prickles. They just ruin everything."

Michelle nodded understandingly.

"Maybe the jumper was a bad idea," she said, "Perhaps something else would be better?"

"Well, I've tried scarves, like Sherlock, but they just get in the way."

"Why wear clothes at all? Aren't they a bit… annoying?"

"I thought so too, but Sherlock insisted."

"It's because we're different," sighed the otter, "We can't just go around looking like normal animals. Everyone knows talking animals wear clothes."

"He's right," said Michelle, nodding again, "They always do. In all the books."

"I don't know," said the hedgehog dubiously, "It all seems a bit odd to me."

"Well, of course it does," said the otter, sounding aloof, "You've just got that raggedy jumper. You don't have style like I do."

"Your scarf is very stylish," said Michelle, "Although a little stained."

"Of course it is, I'm an otter. I'm hardly going to prance around and keep it absolutely pristine. I mean, there's the swimming, for a start."

"True, true, very true."

Michelle wondered what exactly was happening to her. Was this all a dream? Had she banged her head when she tripped over? Was this a joke? Or magic? Or something else?

The hedgehog sighed.

"Anyway, I'm sure we shouldn't be bothering you with this," he said, with a stern look at the otter, "And we did agree that talking to humans was out of bounds."

"I told you, she started it!" objected the otter, "I was just minding my own business-"

"On the path," interrupted the hedgehog, "You know, avoiding the path comes under the whole avoiding humans thing. Going onto the path is more or less exactly not avoiding humans."

"I was curious," said the otter, and Michelle could have sworn it was pouting.

"You're always curious," sighed the hedgehog, "One of these days, I swear, your curiosity is going to get us both killed."

"Um, excuse me," said Michelle, "But, well, you're both talking."

"Well done," said the otter, rolling its eyes, "Did you work that out all by yourself?"

"Yes, so, how exactly did that happen?"

"It was a very complicated series of events which you can't possibly hope to understand culminating in our new-found intelligence, although my colleague seems to have received it in lower quantities than myself."

"Yes, but how did it happen?"

"He doesn't know," said the hedgehog before the otter could say anything, "That's why he's so desperate to talk to humans. He thinks they'll be able to help him figure it out."

"Although obviously you would hardly be of any help," sniffed the otter aloofly, attempting to look down its nose at her.

"That's silly," said Michelle, "You've hardly met me. You don't know anything about me."

"I know enough. I know, for instance, that you're fifteen, you read a lot, you have a vivid imagination, and your parents recently divorced. You don't have a lot of money, but your mother is proud and wants you to have the best childhood she can give you. You have a younger brother, but you don't get on with him. And you're prepared to accept that talking animals exist with hardly a question asked."

"What-how-why-who told you all that?"

"Oh, come on, who'd tell an otter all about you?" he scoffed.

"He worked it out," sighed the hedgehog, "He's always doing this."

"Well," said Michelle, after a moment's pause, "I bet I'm the best chance you've got."

"And why's that?" said the otter snootily.

"Because no one else would ever listen to you."


End file.
